Coping
by Little Miss Slytherclaw
Summary: Everyone has their ways of coping. It's almost a necessary part of war. We rise, we fight, we win, we lose, we mourn, and we cope. Everyone has their ways of coping, and no… it's rarely healthy. A collection of short (under 1,000 words) stories showing how some characters cope with the overall tragedy of war. Warning: Some/most behaviors are destructive.
1. Entry

**Hi everyone.**

 **So I know I promised I'd get the next chapter of Memories up this weekend, but then family visited and I spent far too many hours with my cousin instead of with my computer.**

 **And then this story popped into my head.**

 **I've been playing around with the idea for about a week and a half now, after witnessing some heartbreaking forms of coping firsthand, and vabam! This was born.**

 **These will be short stories, probably all under 1,000 words. All of them will be in the same Universe, and they all follow the books, but happen a few to a lot of years after. The most general timeline is about 10 years after the war ended.**

 **They won't be in any particular order and will just follow how some characters cope. Most of the coping is incredibly destructive and is a little less coping than just loosing themselves to depressions.**

 **I'm not going to lie. I don't have any happy stories at the moment. I only have one fully written, but all of my ideas aren't bright and positive. Most of them are depressing and contain destructive attitudes. If you think it might affect you, then don't read. But if you think you will be alright, then read on and let me know what you think/what characters you want me to break next.**

 **Thanks!**


	2. Draco

**Draco**

With an emotionless grin, he ladled the electric blue potion into a small bottle, attentively making sure he didn't lose a singly drop. The plainness of the room seemed to make the blue potion seem incredibly unnatural. It was the only thing that had color. The walls were white, the floors were white, all of the equipment was white. Even the man holding the bottle had practically no color to him. His skin was extremely pale, due to always being inside, his hair was so blonde that it was almost white, and his eyes were a dull, light grey.

The brightly colored potion just didn't fit into the scene.

'Stacy' He called out, not taking his eyes off of his newly created masterpiece. He didn't even look away when his assistant strode into the room, clipboard in hand. While she wasn't as pale as her boss, she still belonged perfectly in his scene, despite her plain, wheat colored hair and dull green eyes. Even though she had some color, she was still very… plain.

Her white lab-coat stilled on top of her white pants.

'Yes Mr. Malfoy?' she asked, her tone no nonsense. Draco liked that about her.

He also liked that she didn't feel the need to bring color. He had been to her office before and, like his own, it was mostly white, with the exception of a few greys. It was a good thing that only the two of them truly worked in this company. True, they had a security guard and a small medi-team, but none of them had offices and their uniforms were all white, and they required to wear their uniforms.

'Set up the video thing and don't let anyone disturb me for the next two hours' He said, not bothering to continue on with her instructions. She knew plenty well enough that if he didn't send for her, after the two hours were up, she was to get help. The medi-team was trained to handle 'never seen before', and they had a direct connection to St. Mungo's through the lab's specialized floo.

He has had accidents before.

Many times actually.

Stacy gave a sharp nod of her head, which Malfoy more sensed then saw, as he was still looking at his creation, before she turned and walked to the corner of the room. She started messing with a video camera, the slightly magicked muggle contraption that Malfoy called the 'video thing', and Draco decided to set his potion down.

He glanced at Stacy, who gave the room a once over, before he pulled out his wand and began to do some protection spells. They were specific to him. As long as he was alone, he would not be able to leave the barriers he put up, which were much smaller than the lab. His newly created space was that of a small room, one with absolutely nothing in it.

He found that if things were in his space, he might run into them while under the effects of his creations. That could be somewhat disastrous. He had once lost an arm because of it.

He also found that if he didn't confine himself, he put his lab equipment at risk. His white cauldron was a few thousand galleons, and while he could afford it, he would prefer not to have to buy a new one simply because he wasn't in control of himself as an effect of his experiments.

It was a good thing he had medical staff on board.

Within moments, Stacy had joined Draco in his confined area, handed him his drink, made him drink it, taken the empty bottle away from him, and had left and locked the room. He had waited until the door had made an audible click before swallowing the contents in his mouth.

It was vile.

Draco frowned as he felt the acidic liquid slip down his throat. He could tell that this one was going to have some adverse effects.

A sharp pain erupted in his head, and everything flashed the brightest white before it all went dark.

It was a good thing he had a video camera.

'Mr. Malfoy' Stacy called as she undid the many locking charms on the room. There were two men behind her, both wearing white healers robes.

Their footsteps were loud in the unnaturally quite room and Stacy sighed upon seeing the sight of her employer lying on the ground, unnaturally pale and quite unconscious. A bit of blue liquid ran down his jaw from the corner of his mouth and there was a subtle twitch to his left leg.

'You know the drill' She said, emotionlessly, turning towards the camera and letting the two men to their jobs. They were to check to make sure he was well enough to move then get him to St. Mungo's as fast as possible. She was to check the footage and get a team in to clean up any mess that he may have made.

She popped the tape out of the camera, Draco was placed on a stretcher.

She stayed facing away from the action in the room, instead waiting till he was fully removed from the scene to turn around, ignoring the slight tremor in her hands and the singular thought on her mind.

 _If he continued on like this, he was going to die… If he wasn't dead already._

 _Stacy steeled herself and got back to work._


	3. Hermione

**Hermione**

With shaking hands, she glanced around. When she deemed it safe, she slipped her right hand into the inside pocket of her work robes and retrieved a small flask. After taking a quick swig, she took a slow swallow and let out a breath of relief. Within seconds, the flask was safely hidden and she was back at work, her tremors reduced once more.

You see, Hermione couldn't function without her alcohol. She knew it was wrong to be so dependent, and she knew that it was slowly killing her, but it didn't stop her.

'You alright?'

The voice startled her so much that she actually jumped. If sixteen year old Hermione could see her now, she would've been absolutely horrified. Scared by two words? Where was that supposed Gryffindor Courage? She defeated Voldemort for Merlin's sake!

Hermione shuddered at the thought of You Know Who.

Face flushed and hands shaking again, Hermione turned to one of her co-workers, Jane, a fake smile slipping onto her features.

'Yeah! Of course' She said quickly, ignoring the flash of confusion and concern that flashed over Jane's features. Jane shrugged and double checked her files before saying a quick 'goodbye' and heading towards the lift. Had Hermione not turned her back as quick as possible then she would've seen Jane watching her out of the corner of her eye, frowning ever so slightly.

Hermione let out a shaky breath, and soon her flask found its way to her lips once more. She took a larger gulp than last time, trying to bypass the voice inside her head that told her to stop. More than that, she was still trying to bypass the memories that were burned into her eyelids.

She suddenly remembered her father once joking with her, after she had fell down and scraped her knee. He had pinched her arm. Gently, of course, but five-year old Hermione wasn't having it. She remembered glaring at him, asking him what he did that for. She also remembered his laugh as he pulled her into a hug _'I got you to forget about your knee, didn't I?'_.

Distraction. She knew that's all it was. Her had still needed to fully heal, just as her invisible wounds did now, but the pinch had made her forget about it. The question is, though, is her alcohol helping her forget what happened?

She tipped her flask again.

/-|-/-|-\\-|-\

One would think Hermione would've found her work as a researcher of unknown and new spells, at the Ministry, distraction enough, but the war had affected her just as much, or more, than it affected everyone else. It changed her. It changed her so much that when she stumbled into her flat one particular evening, and stared at herself in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself.

Her hair was a mess, even for her. It hung in tangles well past her hips and was much thinner than it used to be due to it always falling out. Most days she managed to get it up into a type of messy bun, but she rarely found the energy to brush it.

Her skin was sallow. It clung to her bones, for that's all she really had… bones. It was slightly yellow too; it matched her eyes. Hermione hated it. Sometimes she'd preform glamour charms to alter it slightly, but she was afraid to do anything too big in case someone noticed.

All of her clothes were too big, but she didn't want to buy more. She kept her pocket change for her firewhisky, and she noticed as she stripped down, she didn't look any better in her underwear. Her ribs were visible, her collarbones were visible. Even the small bones in her wrists were visible. That's not even mentioning her hip bones.

She slowly traced the most offending bones with her calloused fingertips, feeling worse with every bump and bone she felt.

She disgusted herself.

So what did she do? She grabbed the closest piece of clothing, an overly large Weasley sweater, slipped it past her unruly hair, and searched for another bottle of firewhisky. She knew she had one, even an unopened one, somewhere, and couldn't stop herself from grinning, a grin that didn't reach her eyes, when her shaky hands gripped the neck of the offending liquor.

Not even an hour later, Hermione Granger could've been found face down in her carpet, the stench of booze and vomit overwhelming in her, rather small, flat. Except she wasn't found. No, she wasn't found until the next day. Fortunately, for Hermione, Jane, her co-worker, had gotten worried when she didn't show up to work or reply to her patronus, so she did what anybody who cared would do. She apparated to her flat, broke through her wards, and didn't break down until after the mediwizards came.


	4. Ron

**Ron**

Life as an American muggle, or no-maj, as he had heard once in a whisper, was way calmer then his life back in Magical Britain.

And it wasn't painful.

Of course, he missed his family and his friends, but he only felt it if he thought about it, so he didn't think about it. Or, at least, he tried not to.

So there he sat, in a small muggle café, in a small muggle town, in a small muggle state. He wouldn't be able to tell you the names of anywhere that he was. He didn't pay attention to any of it.

The only thing he knew was how to blend it. He even managed to cast a spell on himself, before he swore to be magic free, that made him sound American. It wouldn't do to have people asking him about his hometown, his life in Britain, because people were intrigued by his British dialect. No, it wouldn't do at all.

He sighed as he set his cup of coffee down, glancing outside at the street, almost embracing the plain, greyness of a slightly drizzly spring morning. It was so pain free, so simple, so easy. So why did he feel so lost?

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he didn't notice the waitress walking up to his table, a steaming pot of coffee in one of her hands and a blueberry muffin on a small plate in the other. His eyes were still closed when she set the plate on the table, but they didn't stay closed long enough for her to clear her throat.

He had to fight every instinct and muscle in his body that told him to run, to attack, to stand up, but the only thing that moved was his right hand. It began to reach for his wand, but stopped halfway to his jacket.

 _Idiot_ He thought, mentally chiding himself _You don't even use a wand anymore._

Instead of doing what he wanted to do, he cleared his throat and smiled up at the waitress and nodded slightly when she held up the pot of coffee.

'Please' He said, ignoring the slight break in his voice. The girl smiled and poured the dark liquid into his almost empty mug.

'You've been around here quite often' She remarked simply and Ron had to double take at the sound of her voice. It was beautiful, but he had never heard it before. He had thought he had heard everyone's voice at this particular café. He was certainly in enough. He noticed that the servers had all began to call this his table. How did he not know her voice?

'Every day' He said, smiling up at her. It was his curiosity, of not recognizing her voice, that led him to look up at her, to study her, but it was something else that made him keep his gaze.

She, like her voice, was beautiful. She wasn't gorgeous, and she looked exhausted, but she was quite a sight for him to behold. Her plain brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun that had probably had been neat at the beginning of the day. Wispy strands framed her face, on which her cheeks tinged a slight pink. Her eyes were hazel, and Ron quickly found himself lost in them.

He had seen her before, of course, every single day, but he hadn't realized he'd never heard her speak until this moment.

She cleared her throat, he looked away.

'Forgive me' Ron said, his hands nervously wringing around each other. 'I was slightly startled by your voice. I don't believe I've heard it before.'

She let out a small laugh, though Ron could tell it was forced. He had laughed the same laugh far too many times before.

'We all have things we avoid' She said quietly, her face flushing the slightest bit more. Ron gave her a sympathetic smile.

'Isn't that the truth' He stated, and she returned his smile.

'Say' Ron managed, glancing around the café before returning his gaze to hers. 'Could I have your number? Maybe we can try to avoid things together?'

She didn't answer. Well, not verbally anyways, and Ron was incredibly glad he was actually looking at her, or he'd never have caught her small nod.

/-|-/-|-\\-|-\

'Are you ready Honey?' A bell like voice called and Ron nodded, twisting the ring that rested on his fourth finger out of nervous habit.

'As ready as I'll ever be' He said and he felt a small hand slip into his.

'Let's take you home'

* * *

 **AN: I'm not entirely sure what prompted me to give Ron such a lighter story, but... I guess things just happen XD About time Ron gets a bit more of a happier ending, right?**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	5. Pansy

**I haven't done an AN at the beginning of any of my coping stories... but this one needs it. This one is different and if you get easily triggered, please don't read it. You know you. Just stop reading if you need to kay?**

* * *

 **Pansy**

If there were a single person who could claim the title Master of Concealment Charms, it was Pansy Parkinson. She had perfected every known charm on the subject and had even personally created a few.

She was brilliant with healing charms too, but she wasn't as fond of those ones. They took away feeling. Both healing charms and concealing charms had the same objective, though. They kept people from seeing. And if people saw, then she thought she would stop feeling.

That's what she was all about, feeling. She would never say this out loud, but she thought that feeling is the only thing that keeps her human. Unfortunately, there was very little that could make her feel in the way she believed she needed to feel. So it is with that in mind that we see her story, which picks up with her sitting on the bare, wooden floor of her flat, propped up against the footboard of her bed.

Yes, Pansy Parkinson lived in a flat.

It was an oddly quiet scene, and if one were to just glance over it, nothing would seem wrong. Most people would shrug and move on, but we are going to look closer.

Now, if I explain the scene, and you begin to feel uncomfortable, don't feel the need to continue reading. Move on to the next story. It wouldn't hurt my feelings. However, if you want to continue, imagine that you are living in this world with her, that you are physically walking on the ground she was sitting on.

We'll start at the entrance of her bedroom, as the rest of her flat isn't incredibly important in this story. It's plain, it's perfectly clean, and it has no personal touch. So we'll skip it.

At first glance, Pansy's bedroom looked exactly like the rest of her flat. The only thing of color in the whole room was a light pink blanket that rested on her bed. The rest of the room was variations of white, black, and grey.

If you walk slowly from the doorway to her bed, which was on the far side of the room, exactly in the middle of the room if one were to look from side to side, you'd see her wardrobe to your left. It is a simple, light grey piece of wood, and rather small. Beside the wardrobe is a small vanity. Its color is white, and it only has three things on it: Pansy's wand, a pair of scissors, and a brush. Now, turn your head to the right. What you'll see is a shelving unit, with three old poetry books sitting upon it, and a window. No light was coming through, so I'll leave it up to you to decide on whether it's nighttime, or if her dark curtains just did a brilliant job at keeping the light from seeping in.

All in all, that was everything in her room. Her dark, wood floor had no rug, her shelves held no trinkets, and the only thing, in the whole room, that we haven't actually mentioned, was a small bedside table that held a half-empty glass of water. Her bed held one pillow and that single, light pink blanket.

Absolutely nothing anyone would expect from a certain Pansy Parkinson.

Speaking of the girl, how about you turn your attention to her? Take note of the paleness of her skin, the stillness of her closed eyelids, the gentle wave of her long, dark hair. Imagine the angelic effect the plain white dress gives her as she leans against the white wood of her bedframe.

Now watch as all tension leaves her body and gravity pulls her down. Her paleness remains, her stillness ensues, her hair tumbles itself wildly across her face in graceful cascades of black silk.

If you would, glance down at her right hand. It doesn't hold anything anymore, but resting on the floor beside it is a blade, one of which that was in recent use. It was still wobbling slightly from hitting the ground when Pansy dropped it. A quick look at her left forearm will tell you the rest.

Surprisingly, Pansy Parkinson never once longed for death. She longed for feeling, for pain and strength, but never death. Out of everyone that I've told you about, she's probably the only one who hadn't actually thought about what would happen if her life just ceased. Yet she's the one to die.

Interesting isn't it?


	6. Update

**Hi guys!**

 **Not that I expect any of you to be super hurt or whatever by this, but my computer is dead. More or less. It's broken and I havent been able to use it for the past week (which, let me tell you... it has made homework awful). As of right now, I am using my phone. If any of you want, I can write/upload chapters on my little phone, but they might not be as strong as my usual chapters. That's up to you. I miss writing... it's only been a wwek, but I miss it. So I'd be willing to do on my phone if you guys think that's a good idea. So please let me know!**

 **As of right now, I'm working on getting it fixed, and it's looking semi-hopeful, semi... so hopefully this won't be going on for too long. So yeah. Let me know what you think. Check out my stories... the usual. I promise I'm not just going to say goodbye. Hopefully on Wed. I'll be able to use one of the computer's at my school to write... too bad I can't take one home with me XD**

 **Alright. Let me know what you think... I'll be back soon and I'm almost always online, even if I'm not posting, so feel free to message me. You'll get a responsecond :p**


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